Sunday.
The priest wore
red robes and a smile.
Sunday.
I’m crouching
in the shadows
at the top
of a dim
gray stairwell.
Sunday.
The sermon
sparkled like stained glass.
I didn’t hear it.
Sunday.
No, it’s not.
I’m at school.
It’s finals.
There’s a test.
Almost time.
Rejoice!
he exclaimed,
we have recovered
the True Cross.
Watching.
I’m watching,
and waiting.
And hiding.
He’s coming.
He’s coming.
Rosefire Rising 
reminds me of the Easter story – waiting for services to start
That’s a lovely way to read this!
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